Sherlock gazed out the window as John hailed a cab and they climbed inside. He could feel the Doctor standing behind him, also watching, but he ignored the man's presence.

He knew she'd be upset, but he hadn't expected the display he witnessed or that look in her eyes. A look of complete disappointment. It wasn't directed at him. It was directed at the Doctor and for some reason that made it worse. It created an ache inside his chest accompanied by a hollow feeling, but unlike any he'd experienced before.

It made him want to run after her. To be the one to comfort her and that alone went against his very nature, but ever since he met her his nature had been changing. She made him more human. Something he still wasn't used to, but was no longer able to fight against.

He kept himself from chasing after her for two reasons. One, he knew she didn't want to see him, not at the moment. She was upset and his presence would only prove to remind her of that. She needed space. And second, as much as he loathed the idea, he needed to talk to the Doctor. Find out about James' weaknesses. Find out how he thought so he could catch him…or kill him…he hadn't made up his mind on that yet.

He turned around and caught the amused look on his elder brother's face.

"I do hope you're not going to ask for my advice concerning matters of the heart," Mycroft teased.

"You know me better than that Mycroft," Sherlock scoffed. "I'd never ask advice from someone who has so little experience in the area."

He tucked the folder under his arm and strode out of the room before his brother could shoot off a reply. He heard the Doctor follow and, from the sound of his footsteps, he wasn't entire happy being left in Sherlock's company. Well, that made two of them. He pushed the button for the lift and waited.

The Doctor shifted next to him, but he purposely kept his eyes on the lift's closed doors.

"So…" The Doctor said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Just you and me then?" the Doctor continued.

Sherlock sighed.

"We have a mutual dislike of each other let's not muddle that up with small talk, besides I loathe small talk. There really is no point to it."

"I want to be stuck with you about as much as you want to be stuck with me. I'm merely trying to make this situation bearable."

"Why? I'm perfectly fine with the situation the way it is."

The doors slid open and Sherlock stepped inside followed by the Doctor.

"The more time I spend with you the less I like you and that doesn't happen very often."

"The feeling is mutual."

The Doctor was quiet for a time and Sherlock hoped that quiet would stretch until they got back to Baker Street, but he should've known better. The man seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut.

"How did you meet her anyway?" the Doctor asked.

Sherlock sighed.

"She appeared in my flat."

"After she jumped through the crack?"

"Yes."

"And how long ago was that?"

"A…" he eyed the Doctor. None of this was really any of his business. "If you want to know, why don't you ask her yourself instead of questioning her…" he trailed off because he wasn't entirely sure how to finish that sentence.

"Her what?" the Doctor asked, glaring at the detective as if he'd been slapped.

What indeed? There was a word…an ordinary word, but it didn't seem to fit. They were something, but what exactly were they? Sherlock Holmes in a relationship. John's words. They were the closest to the truth, but what sort of relationship?

They'd gone out a few times, always initiated by her. They'd kissed a few times, all except the first time initiated by her. Not that he didn't want to kiss her again. He thought about it many, many times, but he kept himself a bit distanced. These feelings she brought out in him were new and still foreign and, if he was honest, a bit frightening.

"Her what?" the Doctor repeated in a low voice.

"As I said I think you should ask her."

"I'm asking you."

"We're…in a relationship," Sherlock replied. The entire sentence sounded strange. Something he never thought he'd actually say.

"You're only going to hurt her and I won't let that happen."

What the hell did he mean by that? They didn't even know each other, not really. Sherlock resisted the urge to punch him…barely.

The lift doors slid open, but he leaned his hand on them to keep them open, wanting to finish this.

"What do you mean by that?" the detective snapped.

"She cares about you. I can see that. I hate it, but I can't deny it. You can't return those feelings."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Actually, I do. You're a self proclaimed sociopath. You're incapable of feeling the way other humans feel. You're using her because she makes you feel special."

"Sounds as if you're projecting," Sherlock shot as he stepped out into the lobby.

"I won't let you hurt her," the Doctor insisted walking next to him.

"What? Like you did?"

"I-"

"I wouldn't do that to her."

"I didn't-"

"Have a choice. Yes. We've been over that."

The Doctor glared at him as they stepped out of the lobby and into the street. Sherlock hailed a cab. After they climbed in and he closed the door the Doctor looked at him.

"Tell me one thing."

He really didn't want to continue this conversation, but he knew the Doctor wouldn't let this go. He seemed incapable of letting anything go, well, anything except the woman he claimed to care so much about.

"Fine, I'll answer one question if you'll remain silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why?"

"Why?" Sherlock asked, not understanding the question.

"Why her? You're a self proclaimed sociopath. If I'm to believe that you've actually developed feelings for her, an ability to care, then tell me why her?"

Why? There were a select few people he cared about. John on the top of the list and then Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, but his feelings for Rose were different. Deeper. He tried to fight them, but he hadn't been able to. She brought out feelings he never knew he had, unbidden, as if he had no control over it, which he didn't. Her very presence made him feel…

"Human. She makes me feel human," he replied.

The Doctor's eyes widened then his face became unreadable. He fell into silence then and remained that way for the rest of the trip, but Sherlock felt the man's eyes glance toward him every once in a while. The detective looked out the window and contemplated how much his life had changed in such a short time. He tried not to think about what would happen if he lost her, if she left, because he knew the answer. He'd fall and this time there would be no ability to fake his death because deep in the recesses of his heart he would die.


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